


The 3:15 at Paddington

by osaraba



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-12
Updated: 2011-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaraba/pseuds/osaraba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was supposed to have taken the 3:15 train at Paddington station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 3:15 at Paddington

"I can't believe you let me oversleep!"

Arthur jerked the crappy old dresser drawer open, rattling the alarm clock on top just as it blinked 15:22, grabbed two identical pairs of worn jeans, and threw them into his overnight bag.

"Calm down, we have plenty of time." Eames kicked his own already-packed bag out of the way of Hurricane Arthur and sipped his cup of red tea. The temperature was perfect for him, though a smidge too hot for Arthur. He blew on the surface of the liquid for a few moments and watched as Arthur bumped the drawer closed with his hip. He lifted up the drawer above it (the one that always got stuck if you didn't know the trick) before pulling it out and threw several t-shirts and a jumper into the bag.

"I don't. _We_ don't. Our flight leaves in two hours, Eames, and we already missed the 3:15 at Paddington. We're going to be late and we can't afford to miss this flight, or change it, and they probably won't even let us skip to the front of the security line this time," he continued, opening drawers then slamming them closed. "I hate being late. You know how much I hate it. There's probably going to be some delay on the tracks, and we'll get there just in time, thinking we've made it." He held the bag in a tightly-fisted hand and looked around the room blankly. "But then there will be some idiotic old bald man in front of us on the security line--" (it quite amused Eames that despite not having lived in New York City for a good number of years, Arthur still said _on line_ instead of _in line_ ) "--with five bottles of shampoo, all of them larger than 100ml, and _goddammit where are my socks_?!"

Eames ignored Arthur’s self-distracting tirade. Instead of responding he got up and traded the cup of tea for the duffle, pushing down on Arthur's shoulder until he gave up and sat on the bed and pouted like a little boy in dire need of a nap.

"We'll be fine, Arthur, I assure you," Eames said as he calmly opened the laundry bag on the floor in front of the tiny closet and fished out a few matching pairs of socks. "Don't worry; be happy! Now take a sip of tea; there's a lad." He ignored Arthur's glare as he went about finishing up the packing -- not that there was much to be done, despite Arthur's panic.

"There, it's all sorted now. No, no-- sit back down and finish your tea. We have time for that, at least."

"Eames--"

"We'll just call a cab. No, don't protest; we'll claim it as a business expense. It's more important that we get there on time, isn't it?"

Eames went easily when Arthur put the cup down on the dresser and tugged him over to stand between his legs. He stroked the dark hair, slightly curled at the ends since Arthur hadn't had time to slick it back, trying to send comfort through the touch of his fingers. Arthur let out a shaky breath and he felt the warmth of the exhalation through the cloth over his stomach.

"It's going to be fine," Eames grinned now and the amusement leaked through in his voice. "I'm sure Mal will hold the baby in until we get there."


End file.
